Monaco Dreamin'

This time four years ago I was in Monte Carlo, in full sunshine 30 degree heat, looking out over the harbour's sparkling waters, having my eardrums blasted to smithereens by the roar of 22 F1 cars screaming past at 180mph while trying desperately to stay awake after about three hours sleep the night before, and four hours the night before that.

Ahh, memories.

Go to Monaco if you ever can. For the Grand Prix if possible. It's the only race of the season with any glamour left to it. It's tacky and brash and shiny and expensive, and a diet Coke will cost you anything from a fiver to fifty quid (and that was four years ago), and everywhere in the whole freaking country is on a 90% incline, but it's fabulous, really fabulous.

Look!

Happy happy joy joy

Damn you, Amy!

...for tagging me! As has previously been noted, I do love talking about myself, but I don't have dfive people to pass this on to. Oh well. Maybe I'll just tag you back - five times


Total Number Of Books I Own:

This many:




Plus two bookshelves downstairs full of worthy Dickens-esque stuff I've never read and have no intention to; cookbooks (ditto); several hundred boxes of kid books (I can never throw away books, never) and the leaning tower of bookdom by my bed. Oh, and a bootbox (that's thye kind that's two feet long) under my bed that contains many romance novels. Ran out of shelf space.

Also a folder of eBooks on my hard drive. I have a problem, okay - there should be a Boookaholics Anonymous club. Even when I can't afford them I give myself a hernia lugging home loads from the library.


Last Book I Bought:

Oh crap, I have no idea. The latest I can actually remember were May's HM&B Temptations. They go in with the groceries. Thank you, Tesco!

Last Book I Read:

Sherrilyn Kenyon. I can't remember the title but it had something to do with Nights or Dark something... sorry. It's not that I didn't love the book - I did! - but the titles are all the same and I can't remember! It's the one with the Were-Hunter Vane, who was adorable. I sometimes get tired of the Alpha who knows everything and can do everything. Vane was strong and sexy and powerful, but he didn't have a clue about so many things, and he admitted it, which was just the cutest thing.

Five Books That Mean A Lot To Me:

Gark! I.... uh... um. That's a hard one, Butch.

The Evolution of Fashion by Margot Hamilton Hill and Peter A Bucknell. That's done, you, 'Enry 'Iggins! It's not fiction. It's not even prose. It's a book where most of the pages are filled with drawings and patterns of clothes from 1066-1930. I LOVE clothes, historical fashion, and costume. If I hadn't gone into writing I'd have gone into costume. This is just one of my beloved (and woefully small - it's not a subject that's well-tackled in popular print) collection of books on the subject. Pure clothes-porn.

The Tudor Housewife by Alison Sim. History written about in a friendly, easy-to-understand, words-of-few-syllables sort of way. Like costume history, social history is not a subject widely represented and they don't bother to teach you about it at school. But utterly valuable for anyone interested in, and especially writing about, the period. Unexpectedly useful for fantasy, too. Very special to me because it's the first history book I read voluntarily, it wasn't filled with boring, meaningless dates and names, and there was hardly any mention of politics. Just every day people and the way they lived. Fantastic!

A Knight in Shining Armour by Jude Deveraux. Comfort reading (usually to be found in the bottom of my suitcase in case I run out of new books). My first time-travel romance, and the first single-title romance I ever read. When I was about twleve, I think. This was the book that introduced me to the concept that not all romance is category M&B stuff, and not all historicals are full of dull details. Seeing the Elizabethan world through Dougless's eyes is so much more different, so much more vibrant, than trying to see it through the eyes of someone to whom it was normal. Reminds me of a week in my favourite place, where I was also introduced to my favourite band and my favourite song. Also, it's full of great clothes-porn.

Seven Up by Janet Evanovich. Love chick-lit voice; love guns and blood; love hot men. What else do I have to say? Except that yes, I read them out of sequence, and this was the first one (in a twofer at Borders, if you really want to know).

Wyrd Sisters by Terry Pratchett (just a title at random, I think it's the first one I read. I know it was one of the witches books). Having read Terry's kid stuff when I was a kid, I wasn't impressed - too confusing and made me feel like I just wasn't getting it. However a week in rainy Cornwall is a terrible thing without anything to read, even if the reading's bad, so I nabbed this from the library. And fell in love. One cranky old woman, one leering old biddy, and one watery teenager, lots of really off-beat humour and fantastically twisted fantasy. The sort of thing you'd never be able to pitch to a publisher (trust me on this). Also his City Watch books - I worship Angua especially. For a male writer and a genre traditionally concerned more with wizards and trolls, Terry really does write wonderful women.

Five People I'm Gonna Tag. Like I said. Amy, five times. I'm lazy, plus you picked all the bloggers whose addresses I can actually remember.

Psychology

A while ago someone I was talking to at a party was convinced that I wrote because I was trying to communicate with my parents. I thought that was a really pretty daft assumption: I live with my parents, and I communicate with them every day. I don't use my writing as a way to explain myself. I use my mouth - and I use it a lot.

But recently I got to thinking about how a lot of writers have similar themes and character types they come back to a lot in their books, especially romance writers. Sarah Mason writes slightly clueless heroines with big, loopy families; Jennifer Crusie gives her characters a lot of baggage; Jude Deveraux has a lot of pioneering spirits (no matter what the time period).

It made me wonder if I have a pattern. So, because I'm in a Carrie Bradshaw mood, I'm going to pose a question. Do all writers ultimately use their writing to talk about themselves? Do we have inescapable patterns, whether we like it or not?

(Okay, that's two questions, but Carrie did it all the time)

At first I thought not (because I don't like to be predictable), and then I thought about all my main characters and realised... I do. Certainly there's a bit of a pattern. Chalia, who never fitted in at home, and is now in a foreign world; Tallie, who likes sharp things and hot men in a culture where women still wear long dresses; Tanner, the mercenary son of a prostitute, heading up a police force in a very polite city; Striker, who's a psycho by anyone's description.

And that's just one book.

Chance, who has powers and abilities like no one else in existence. Molly with her blue hair and stripy stockings. Emmy who fixes cars for a living while her contemporaries shop and get boob jobs. And dear old Sophie, who hasn't a clue what's going on even before she becomes a spy.

They're all misfits. All of my most beloved characters are total outsiders. Will who's dyslexic and never got on at school; Luke with his licence to kill and frigid family; Tyrnan the nobleman's son who robs coaches for fun. And these are the characters I've already got down on paper - up and coming characters may include Tyra the librarian who's also a siren; Kett the shapeshifter who spent half her childhood as a statue; Loli the drummer with a business degree, and many other wacky characters full of thrills.

(Yes, there are several genres here. Try to guess which ones: you may be pleasantly surprised)

So maybe I do have a pattern. Well, not maybe - I do. All of these characters are people who don't fit in with their world and are just trying to find someone who actually gets them. Probably this is why I write Sophie so obsessively: because she started out based on me, and the more I write of her the more I can get what I want. I get to blow stuff up and wear couture dresses and tell very scary people to fuck off. And I also get Luke, who gets me, and loves me, and doesn't make me feel like an outsider so much any more.

Maybe I am trying to communicate here. I know I really love talking about myself (duh, what do you think a blog is for?). It would be a load of bollocks to pretend that all my characters are me in disguse, but it probably wouldn't be a lie if I said I use them to get things that I want.

I miss Carrie's questions, don't you?

Snarky posts

I'm reading all over (well okay, in like two or three blogs) about one erotica writer who isn't happy with the general state of the erotic romance genre. Pretty much all the responses to her blog post (I only read the first few because the rest were so vitriolic and frankly, depressing) have been attacks on her and especially her writing. Glass houses and all that.

This annoys me for several reasons.

First, you shouldn't attack your own genre unless you're a) unassailable (Jude Deveraux, Nora Roberts et al could probably get away with it) b) very brave or c) brave's best friend, very stupid. It's inviting attacks on you and your work. Actually, maybe I should scratch a). People love to complain and they'd probably tell Jude and Nora their work sucks.

Secondly, she does have a point that romantica is probably not the strongest field of romance writing. There is some crap out there. I've read it. I may even be writing it. But it's like any popular genre, of writing or film or music - there's some good stuff and there's a lot of rubbish. I say to its critics the same thing I say to any critic of any genre (and I'm going to put it in really big letters to make my point): If you don't like it then don't read it.

Thirdly, it really, really, really irritates me that a person is attacked so strongly for expressing her opinion. All opinions are valid (despite what my big brother believes) and is it not an integral part of the western civilisation we all prize so highly that we can all speak our minds? Isn't that sort of the point of the internet? Frankly I'm starting to become afraid to express my own opinion in case I offend someone with more delicate sensibilities than myself. I have my own views on religion and politics, but I rarely express them because I just don't like getting into fights over them. They're not even radical. But they're still offensive to a lot of people who probably think I go around kicking puppies and things.

Therefore it would seem that the only way to get along with anyone anywhere is to keep one's opinion to oneself. Never speak out against anything that you believe to be wrong or incorrect. Never express your own beliefs. Never be individual or unusual, because this way pain lies. After all, Plato himself laid down the rules: that knowledge is based upon what is, and ignorance upon what is not. Since opinion and knowledge cannot be the same thing, opinion cannot be based upon what is. It's nothing to do with facts. Therefore, it must be invalid, and irrelevent.

Plato really could be an idiot sometimes.

Here's the original post

Kingdom of Heaven

Mildly confusing film with many unexplained elements. However. It contains Alexander Siddig, who I thought was gorgeous when he was being squeaky clean Dr Bashir in Star Trek DS9; Orlando Bloom being moody (who'da thought it'd suit him so well?); and lots of blood-spattering gore.
Also this image, which is the sort of thing I'd like as a cover for Chance and Dark (clicky for a bigger pic)


Gorgeous, no?

GARK!

I just got a reply from the Fab Five coordinators (I emailed the overall one as well as my category because... well, I'm impatient) who both said they loved my writing and it was really professional and that Raelene wanted the full ms!

Yay! And also Argh! I have to edit the goddamn thing!

On another note, I just had a really vivid Firefly dream where I think I was Kaylee. We were at a party and Inara had a really hot dress to make Mal jealous, but then she hooked up with someone (who reminded me disturbingly of Patrick) and it seemed that I was wearing the dress... and Mal was being hot. Weird! It was one of those dreams where you know you're half awake and you're directing it. So I made Mal hug me. Haha.

Ooh, and I get a plaque too. Not for the dream (clearly) but for the contest. Squeee!

Look! I told you I have a business card

Check it out!



(The font is a little more legible when it's been printed. Honest)

I already added it to my business card, so it must be true.

Just to clarify...

I won. I won the Fab Five freaking contest. Well, in my category, which is Erotica, thank you very much. Probably because I managed to get some sex into the first ten pages, which when two people have never met before and both their world and their species has to be described, is pretty damn tough, I think!

I ran upstairs to get a jumper 'cos we were sitting outside (yes, I know. I know. But see below for why the British do this sort of thing) and saw there was an IM from Amy asking if I'd heard yet. I gave her a gloomy Dougal reply and clicked on the Contest Alert group for the hell of it.

Then I squeaked like a mouse and read the post again, fairly sure they were listing in reverse order because how else would I be at the top of the list?

I mean, seriously. I wasn't kidding when I say final found judges usually hate me. All editors hate me. It's a rule of the universe. Like 42. There were six finalists in my category (like, an extra one - should've been five, hence the contest name) which just said to me that I now had an unprecedented opportunity to come sixth out of five.

Have since forwarded what probably doens't make any sense onto pretty much everyone in my address book (possibly even the twins, which could be intertresting since I haven't spoken to them in a year or seen them in a year and a half), and am anticipating many replies of "What the fuck are you babbling about, girl?", or possibly no responses again, 'cos they'll probably think it's spam.

Anyway. Don't care. I checked the list again this morning and it's still there, no retraction or anything. I already added it to my business card, so it must be true.

Oh, and for the superstitious/people who like to laugh at the superstitious, I asked my oracle book yesterday about the contest. The question I picked was "Will I receive the honour I am hoping for?" The answer came back: "Yes, a woman will help you."

Seeing as I figure probably in excess of 99% of people involved with this contest are women, that's not particularly helpful. But accurate, nontheless. I guess you can take that as you want.

Gark

Oh.
My.
God.

I never won anything before.

I'll post more when I've recovered from getting squashed to death by my mum who thought an appropriate tribute would be to hug me til I stopped moving.

__________________

I've been sane a long while. And change is good.

Still nuthin'

See above.

Bleeaaah

Still nuthin'. This timezone thing sucks. If they weren't six hours behind, I'd have heard by now.

Well, probably, anyway.

Hey. Random thought for the day. At the beginning of Home Now on No Doubt's Return of Saturn album, there's what sounds like the annoucement on the London Underground at Victoria station: "This is Victoria. Change at Victoria for the Victoria line, mainline and mainline suburbia." But I stopped at that station the other day and that's not what she says (and yes, it is a recording). How can this be?

Okay, I lied

...about posting on the hour every hour. Actually I found something to do: putting together a package for... someone... that I probably won't get around to sending for days, if not weeks, and then I decided to make some bread with the wheat-free flour Mum got me. It's a little weird so far: I've never made bread with vinegar before (and after working at the mill, I've made quite a few kinds of bread), and never made bread that didn't need kneading. The dough tastes good, but it's oddly cake-like - a little gritty with the flour (not superfine like wot I am used to) and not as doughy as bread dough. More like cake mix.

Anyway, we know where the proof of the pudding is, right? Tune back in for a riveting update!

Oh, and still nuthin'.